


The Koosh Ball

by Heavenly_Stellar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And a Sap, Cockblock Sam Winchester, Crack, Cute Castiel, Dean Has a Crush on Castiel, Dean is a Softie, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Friendship/Love, Hunters & Hunting, Koosh Balls, M/M, Making Out, Naive Castiel, Sam is Not Amused, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Toys, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavenly_Stellar/pseuds/Heavenly_Stellar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look, Dean,” the angel says holding out what looks like something a unicorn barfed out. Dean goes cross-eyed looking at the blindingly colorful collection rubber strings.</p><p>“Cas,” the hunter leans backwards, suspicious. “Where the fuck did you get that?”</p><p>Over the course of a few days, the Winchesters' and Castiel are on a case, werewolves, the usual shindig. </p><p>Then Cas finds a Koosh Ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Koosh Ball

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from my other fic, [ It'll Never End ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2526086/chapters/5613779) and this sort of happened.
> 
> I really have no real explanation or good excuse.

“Look, Dean,” the angel says holding out what looks like something a unicorn barfed out. Dean goes cross-eyed looking at the blindingly colorful collection rubber strings.

“Cas,” the hunter leans backwards, suspicious. “Where the fuck did you get that?”

“I found it,” Cas replies with a wide smile. He cradles the thing in both his hands, peering at it with an air of pride. Cas sits down on the edge of Dean’s cheap motel room bed’s foam mattress. Dean shuffles over to make room for Cas, expression still sour with bafflement.

“Thank you,” Castiel says automatically. He wiggles until his back comes into contact with the headboard. The angel pinches one of the strings and yo-yo’s the furry-looking ball. He giggles, a low-pitched bubbly noise.

“Sam?” Dean calls out to his younger brother, concerned. “Did you give Cas a Koosh Ball?”

“ _What_?” Sam looks up from his laptop. He sits across the room, by the open window. His mouth open and closes, in shock, no doubt at seeing the angel of the Lord playing with the cheap toy.

“Well?” Dean prompts.

Sam jolts. “Um, no?”

“I told you, I found it,” Cas pipes up. He begins to throw the Koosh Ball up into the air and then catching it with two hands. His face lights up with delight every time.

“Right,” Dean says.

There’s a long stretch of quiet, the only noises being: the whir of the air conditioner, the click of the ceiling fan and the ‘thump’ the Koosh Ball makes every time it hits Cas’ palms.

The throwing-and-catching stops and Cas’ blue eyes- practically glowing with happiness- dart from Winchester to Winchester.

“What?” he asks, almost indignantly.

Sam’s head snaps back to the laptop screen with a mumble of ‘nothing’ and Dean’s left with Cas looking at him expectantly. Dean shakes his head, a fond smile curving his lips. He threads his fingers through Cas’ dark hair and ruffles it, making it even wilder than before if possible. Cas smiles at him and then his attentions return to the Koosh Ball. He begins pulling at the rubbery tentacles of his newfound friend, watching it wobble about uselessly much to his amusement.

 _What a dork_ , Dean thinks.

 

*

 

It’s when _that thing_ follows them on a case that Dean begins to worry about the relationship between Cas and the Koosh Ball. It’s sweltering hot, and the two of them sit in full sun on a park bench overlooking a playground. Dean’s already lost his suit’s jacket and has loosened his tie. Cas still wears the trench coat, not even breaking a sweat. He rolls the Koosh Ball in between his hands idly, elbows resting on his knees.

“When did Sam say he was going to meet us?” Cas asks, breaking the silence.

Dean checks his wristwatch. “He should be here any moment.”

Cas nods.

“So,” Dean breathes out. “I see you still have your Koosh Ball.”

Cas cups his hands to hold the rainbow thing, a thoughtful little line forming between his brows.  
  
“Yes,” Cas almost sounds surprised. He stares down at the Koosh Ball and after a beat, says, “I have named him Floyd.”

Dean straightens and turns his head to face Cas, a frown marring his features. “Floyd,” the hunter repeats.

“Floyd,” the angel echoes.

“ _Floyd_?” Dean makes a face.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, forehead creasing. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dean leans heavily against the bench, feeling the fabric of his white dress shirt stick to his sweaty and heat-induced flushed skin.

“Do you not like my choice?” Cas questions.

“No, no,” Dean lies, not wanting to hurt Cas’ feelings. “It’s fine.”

Cas glares at him. “Dean, generally, when you say ‘it’s fine’ you usually mean the opposite.”

“No I don't!” Dean denies.

“Yes you do,” Cas says.

“Don’t,” Dean shakes his head.

“Do,” Cas’ eyes narrow.

“Don't.”

“Do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Don’t- OW!” Dean yelps as Cas pegs the Koosh Ball at his head. It bounces off and flops to the ground.

“Don’t lie to me and Floyd, Dean Winchester,” Cas says, tone laced with a warning. 

“I’m not!” Dean exclaims, flustered.

Cas stands up, trots to where the Koosh Ball landed, crouches, and with his thumb and forefinger, picks up his friend by one of the rubber threads. Dean rubs his head, wondering how the hell a rubber ball with spaghetti-like tentacles could hurt so much. Meanwhile, Cas stands, holding the Koosh Ball up near his face. The angel goes a little cross-eyed.

“We know better, don’t we, Floyd?” Cas asks the Koosh Ball with a dead serious expression on his face. His blue eyes flick to meet Dean’s green orbs.

Dean opens his mouth to say something, when Sam galumphs towards them.

“Hey, guys, so get this, turns out those victims did have their hearts ripped out…”

 

*

 

Dean cannot believe it.

He is jealous of a Koosh Ball.

It’s so late at night, that it’s almost early morning. Dean had woken up in a cold sweat, tangled in the bed sheets, gasping for breath. It was just another nightmare, nothing new for the hunter.

Tomorrow they were going to talk with a witness who might know where the werewolf they’re hunting is. Cas had decided stayed with them for the night. After all, Dean had ‘accidentally’ booked a room with three single beds.

It was impulsive, but it was a nice feeling he got when he saw his younger brother and best friend in the same room. Sleeping, hopefully, soundly.

Cas claimed that angels didn’t need to sleep. But there he was, curled up into a ball with the comforter bunched up around him and tucked under his chin. Dean had gone over to the angel’s bed, and stared down at him, emotions building up until it was a dull, tight, pressure in his chest.

For sure, Cas was something special.

In what way… now that was the question. Cas suddenly lets out a pleased hum, nose scrunching up a little, and corners of his lips lifting.

Dean feels his heart melting.

His hand reaches out of its own accord and his fingertips brush some stray strands of hair from Cas’ forehead. Cas’ hair is positively unruly, flattened in some sections and others sticking straight up like he’d been struck by lightning. His lips are parted slightly, slow, even breaths escaping. The lines on his face are relaxed, making his vessel look ten years younger.

The angel makes another happy noise and shifts, face burrowing into the pillow. Then from deep from underneath the cover of the quilt, Cas’ hand pops out.

Clutching that damned Koosh Ball.

 _Yeah_ , Dean thinks with a snort. _Cas is special all right._

 

*

 

“Hi, Mrs. Findlay,” Dean begins with his most charismatic smile. “I’m Agent Eastwood and these are my partners,” he gestures to Sam, “Agent Wallach and…”

He trails off. Because, _really_? Cas is oblivious to the three humans that stare at him, mostly with surprise, disturbance and exasperation.

The Koosh Ball strikes again.

This time, he’s shaking it in front of his face, watching intently as it jiggles. It’s a blur of bright colours. Sam elbows Cas in the ribs. Cas grunts out an irritated noise, but stops brandishing the Koosh Ball. He pockets it and looks ahead, like everything was normal. Mrs. Findlay looks like she’s just swallowed a whole lemon.

Dean clears his throat with a forced smile that ends up making him look constipated. “And Agent Cleef,” he finishes.

“We’re from the FBI,” Sam takes over. “We’re here to ask you some questions about your son’s death. We’re very sorry, by the way.”

Mrs. Findlay snaps out of her shock at seeing a ‘FBI agent’ playing with a Koosh Ball. She opens the door for them silently and lets them in.

“Thank you,” Cas says graciously.

She just nods, a worried smile on her lips. Mrs. Findlay ushers them into her living room and implores them to sit on the couch. They do so, although it’s a tight fit with Cas squeezed like a sardine in between the Winchester brothers.

His elbow and shoulder bump against Cas as Dean pulls out a small notepad and pencil for show.

“Would you mind telling us your account of the event?” Dean asks, shifting uncomfortably.

“Um, well,” Mrs. Findlay says, voice wavering. “Aaron was waiting for his best friend, Michael, to come over. For a sleepover.” Her face crumples sadly as her grief threatens to spill over.

Cas reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table and holds it out to Mrs. Findlay, a gentle look on his face. She tugs out a few tissues and blows her nose.

“Thank you,” she says, voice choked. “Now let’s see… oh, um, I had to do some work in the backyard. I heard a car pull up, and I had assumed it was Michael…” she blows her nose again. “I should have c-checked.”

“What happened then, Mrs. Findlay?” Sam asks, tone sympathetic.

“I walk in, Aaron’s… there…” her hand shakes as she points to a spot on the carpet, a red patch stains it, “I went to the front, managed to get the car’s number plate. The police said they were looking for it. But… it’s been a few days now. I don’t think they’ll find them.”

“What was the number plate?” Dean questions, pen resting on paper, ready to write.

Mrs. Findlay disappears into the kitchen, mumbling about having it written down on a piece of paper.

“She should purchase a Koosh Ball,” Cas comments once the woman is gone.

Sam raises an eyebrow while Dean rubs at his face tiredly. “Yeah?” Sam asks, actually curious.

“It is a good stress reliever and a good companion,” Cas replies. He pats one of the pockets of his beige coat. Dean rolls his eyes. Mrs. Findlay returns and passes them the note with the set of numbers and letters.

The Winchesters plus Castiel rise to their feet, Dean saying, “Thank you for your time.”

“Once again, we’re very sorry for your loss,” Sam adds.

Cas opens his mouth. Dean’s hand quickly clamps on to the angel’s upper arm and hauls him out of the poor lady’s house. Cas allows Dean to drag him along, eyes wide, a perfect look of innocence.

“What?” Cas demands.

“I know what you were going to say,” Dean lets go of Cas, pulling his car keys out from his pocket.

Cas lets out a snort of disbelief.

The hunter lets out a long sigh, resting his elbows on the roof of his car and shakes his head at Cas, who has his arms crossed over his chest and a tiny smirk on his lips.

“Well, go on,” Cas prompts.

Dean cannot believe how naïve an ‘older than time itself’ celestial being could be sometimes.

“You were going to tell her that she should buy a Koosh Ball,” Dean says, humoring the angel. Then he opens the car door and slides smoothly into his beloved Impala.

Cas’ jaw actually drops. “What? No I wasn’t, of course not, how ridiculous… how did you know-?”

Sam pats Cas’ shoulder as he walks around him to get to the car. “He’s psychic.”

Cas’ expression changes to one of confusion to amazement. “I was not informed of this! Dean, when did you…”

“Just get in the car, Cas!”

 

*

 

 _Well shit,_ is all Dean can think when one of the werewolves tackles him to the ground. His gun skids across the ground and he yells for Sam. As there werewolf straddles him, growling and foaming at the mouth, Dean can’t help but wonder if it would actually kill the monster to brush its teeth once in a while. The corners of Dean’s mouth are pulled downwards into an expression of disgust; he fights the urge to gag. He eyes the chunks of gore stuck between the werewolf’s sharp canine teeth.

Seriously, it should think about flossing.

But when the werewolf’s claws cut deep in his forearms, all the hunter can worry about is how his heart is about to join those stringy bits of flesh hanging from the monster’s fangs very soon. Then, he hears his savior:

“ _Fetch!_ ” Cas commands, and he _throws_ that fucking Koosh Ball named _Floyd_ across the barn that the shit was going down in.

And it's a goddamn miracle when the werewolf atop of Dean momentarily forgets about the human and springs over to where Floyd is. The werewolf picks it up in its mouth, and shakes its head back and forth manically. Bits of colorful rubber string go flying everywhere.

Then Cas teleports over, places a hand on the monster’s head, and kills it. Sam stumbles over, blood splattered on his shirt but a victorious glint in his eyes.

Dean slumps back, lying on the ground and panting.

Floyd saved him.

_Jesus Christ._

 

*

 

Dean’s surprisingly well rested the next day. The hunt was a big success. It turned out that Aaron’s friend Michael was actually a werewolf and he’d eaten his own best friend’s heart. The Winchesters along with the angel’s help had killed a pack of five werewolves.

There are just two things that Dean’s a little worried about. The first thing is this:

After the hunt, there was the usual heavy silence that weighed upon the three of them. Then Cas had laid his hands on either side of Dean’s face and transferred some of his grace to help heal him. Dean can still feel the softness of Cas’ palms cupped around his jaw. The angel’s hands are so different compared to the hunter’s callused hands that have picked a few scars, nicks and bumps along the way. He likes Cas’ hands, he realizes, a lot. He likes them probably a little too much, if he’s being honest with himself. He really likes all of Cas.

Dean’s hand, which tucks under his chin, slowly slides up and pushes the skin of his cheek up.

Cas’ fingers glide along the back of the chair he stands behind, he’s talking to Sam, who’s listening intently. The angel’s eyes meet the hunter’s briefly, and then dart back to Sam.

Dean sighs. Then he’s tempted to slap himself. What’s he doing? Sighing and drooling and blushing like a fucking schoolgirl over his angel best friend. He straightens suddenly, letting his arm drop to the table. _Get your act together, Winchester_! He chides himself.

“Am I boring you, Dean?” Cas asks.

“No!” Dean quickly blurts out. “Not at all, Cas, you could never bore me.”

Both Cas and Sam give him a concerned frown, and with bated breath, Dean waits for some stupid comment from one of them. But then they turn back to each other and continue chatting about some nerdy thing that Dean’s not really listening to.

The second thing… well, the Koosh Ball named Floyd didn’t make it. Dean shivers as he remembers Cas picking up the remnants of the toy. It was covered in werewolf slobber, had ripped tentacles and generally looked like it had seen better days.

Dean had felt guilt. It gnawed at his stomach, made his eyes prickle, made a thin line of sweat trickle in between his shoulder blades. It got to the point where he really just couldn’t cope with it. Especially after the heartbroken look on Cas’ face, and the way he had cradled the very dead Floyd in his hands.

Dean Winchester could not, and would not, stand for it.

He had bought Cas a new Koosh Ball.

But now he just had to grow a pair and give it to the damned angel. Dean draws in a deep breath.

“Hey, Sam?”

“What?”

“Give Cas and me a moment, would you?”

Sam tilts his head. “… Okay? I’ll just go for a supply run, then.”

Once Sam was gone, it was just Cas, Dean, and the fucking new Koosh Ball that he’d stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. It’s hard rubber core rubbed against his thigh, tight and chafing. Cas pulls out a chair and sits down opposite Dean.

“What is it, Dean? Are you all right?”

“Fine, Cas,” Dean struggles to not sound like he’s drowning in his own spit or being strangled by a boa constrictor. He wipes his sweaty palms against his denim-clad thighs. He feels the Koosh Ball, and for half a second he thinks about bailing.

But, fuck it.

He can platonically give his platonic friend and platonic gift that doesn’t hold any girly sentimentality in it, right?

Dean struggles to pull it out of his pocket, but once he does, he holds it out to Cas. Dean had replayed the way he thought this scene would play out over and over again to gather his courage. Cas’ face would light up like a Christmas tree; he’d smile that rare smile that was usually only for Floyd and he’d thank Dean.

But Cas’ face droops, forehead crinkling.

His mouth opens and then closes.

The angel rubs the back of his neck.

He looks down, cheeks tinted with pink.

“Um, Dean…”

Dean feels a lump in his throat.

“You… didn’t have to… I, um,” Cas’ face is gradually going redder by the second. He shifts about, and then, from the folds of his trench coat, pulls out Floyd.

He’s alive.

The Koosh Ball looks as good as new.

Floyd. Is. Alive.

Now it’s Dean’s turn to go as bright red as a cherry tomato. He feels like an idiot, holding out the electric blue wobbly piece of rubber plastic shit. Of course, Dean mentally groans and considers hitting his head on the table a few times. Cas is an angel, for crying out loud, he can heal- fight- kill- teleport- and be an overall badass. He could sure as hell fix a stupid Koosh Ball.

“I was embarrassed that you’d think less of me for using my grace to repair Floyd,” Cas explains. “I hid him because I thought you’d feel ashamed that it was a Koosh Ball that saved your life.”

“R-Right,” Dean stammers, feeling embarrassment swallowing him whole. “Of course.”

“Apologies. You didn’t have to waste your money,” Cas says, fiddling with the Koosh Ball.

Dean feels a pang of hurt. “Um, yeah, well,” he pulls Cas’ gift back and hides it under the tabletop. “Not actually my money, anyways. And it didn’t cost that much.”

“I appreciate the thought, Dean,” Cas tells him.

Dean nods numb with shame. He squeezes the Koosh Ball, feeling it morph and jiggle in his fist.

“Yeah, well, doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He’d meant to say it lighthearted but it came out bitter.

“Dean,” Cas reaches over, hand touching the hunter’s other arm that rests on the small table. “Thank you, anyways. Honestly, I thought that…” he looks away from Dean and his voice grows small. “Thought you didn’t care.”

“Of course I care about you, Cas,” Dean says. He puts the Koosh Ball he had bought down on the table, freeing his hand. Dean lets it rest atop of Cas’. It’s like he’s being blown away by gales of wind, but he’s not even moving. In fact, Dean feels like he’s frozen in time. Cas’ warm hand under his, his fingers curl around it, and Cas lets him. Cas stares at him, blue eyes’ penetrating layers that Dean’s been building around himself for as long as he could remember.

Cas stands, and for a horrifying few seconds, Dean panics that he’s overstepped the boundaries.

Then he leans, body inclining toward Dean, over the table.

His lips brush over Dean’s.

A little clumsy in aim, but it’s got sparklers setting alight in both the hunter and angel.

Dean smiles into the kiss, hand rising to cup the side of Cas’ face.

“I care about you too, Dean,” Cas murmurs.

And just like that, Dean’s forever indebted to the invention of Koosh Balls’ and Cas’ fascination of them. Because really, if it weren’t for the Koosh Ball, this happiness he feels would never have been achieved.

“Awesome,” Dean whispers and deepens the kiss.

“Awesome,” Cas echoes with a sigh into Dean’s mouth, eyelids fluttering.

Dean lets himself enjoy the feel of Cas’ lips on his for a moment before subtly sliding his tongue against the seam of Cas’ lips. Cas makes a little noise in the back of his throat, lips parting to let Dean’s tongue slide in. The hunter tangles his fingers around the silky fabric of the angel’s tie. He tugs at it, accidentally making it tighten a little around Cas’ neck. Cas shifts closer and he table screeches as it’s legs scrape against the timber floor.

“Come closer, Cas,” Dean pulls away a few inches from Cas’ ample lips, breathless.

What Dean doesn’t expect is to see Cas heave himself up on the tabletop, knees caps smacking against wood, palms spread out on it. The hunter swallows, feel a heat tickling down in his lower abdomen. Dean smiles, and reels Cas in by his navy blue tie. The table groans a little under Cas’ weight, but stays strong.

“Dean,” Cas whispers, voice husky once he’s in kissing-distance, and kisses Dean- openmouthed and warm. His teeth graze Dean’s lips, but it’s too chaste for Dean’s liking, as the angel suddenly lifts himself up, straightening. Dean, not wanting to choke Cas, stands. His knees feel weak. Cas shrugs off his trench coat, tantalizingly slow. Dean lets go of Cas’ tie and helps him out of the coat, and suit jacket. Cas pops the buttons of his white dress shirt. Dean’s hands slide up and down Cas’ sides, drinking in the sight of him.

“You’re so hot, Cas,” Dean presses quick kisses to the warm skin of Cas’ torso, tongue flicking out every so often. The dress shirt is quickly forgotten, unbuttoned and ruffled, but still on the angel. Cas’ hands find the hem of Dean’s shirt. The fabric is pulled so hard, that Dean worries for a moment that it’ll rip. But once off, it gets thrown over the Cas’ shoulder.

“Sit down,” Cas orders him in a low growl, hands on Dean’s shoulders.

Dean’s never sat down so quickly in his life.

Then Sam walks in with a, “Hey guys! I’m ba — OH MY GOD! _DEAN!_ ”

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos for Floyd!


End file.
